It was still too early in the year to swim, but there were a number of holidaymakers strolling along the beach, although none at the far end by the cliffs. The tide was almost in, and Theo felt out of place dodging the waves in his businessman’s suit and shoes. He reached the point where the cliffs jutted out towards the sea, and clambered on to the rocks. He was looking for a cave or a small crevice in the cliff face that would put him out of sight of the people on the beach, and he found one. It stretched only a few metres in, but that was enough. He climbed in, sat on a rock and waited. The Atlantic waves lapped the shore just a few metres in front of him. In an hour or so, the sea would be in the cave.
A minute later, Otto joined him. He grinned and shook Theo’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I showed I recognized you back there,’ he said. ‘That was foolish.’
‘Never mind,’ said Theo.
‘What are you doing here? Is something wrong?’
‘Have you had a chance to speak to the duke yet?’
‘Not yet. I was just writing a note for him asking him to meet me.’ Otto pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket.
Theo examined the young diplomat. He had found out quite a bit about him in the few days they had spent together. Like Theo, he had trained as a lawyer. He had spent some time in France and a little in England. Although he wasn’t from one of the close-knit Junkers landed families like Theo’s, Theo could imagine being a friend of his at university. Otto wasn’t Gestapo, and although he may well be a member of the Nazi Party, he didn’t strike Theo as a fanatical supporter at all. During the plans for the coup in 1938, Theo had had to approach a number of men in important positions to sound out support. He had been surprised how even long-term Party members had listened to him favourably.
Otto was worth a try.
‘I don’t think you should approach the duke,’ Theo said.
‘Why not?’ said Otto. ‘Surely if he became king again and presided over peace talks with Germany, it would be good for us.’
‘It would be good for Hitler,’ Theo said.
‘Of course it would,’ Otto agreed. Then he frowned. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?’
‘What’s good for Hitler is not necessarily good for Germany,’ Theo said. ‘Or Europe.’
‘But we would win the war, Theo! That’s certainly good for Germany.’
‘Is it?’ said Theo.
Otto stared at Theo. He nodded slowly to himself. ‘Yes, Theo, it is. And to suggest otherwise is treachery against the Fatherland.’
‘I don’t believe it is,’ said Theo.
‘Well, I do,’ said Otto. ‘I don’t agree with everything Hitler does or says, but he has made Germany a great country again, and as a German I am proud of that.’
With a heavy heart, Theo realized he had misjudged Otto Langebrück.
‘Look, Theo, I like you,’ Otto went on. ‘I’m not a member of the Gestapo, and I won’t tell them what you have just said to me. But I will go and speak to the Duke of Windsor and persuade him to return to England. There will be thirty million francs held for him in Switzerland and we will promise that him becoming king and Wallis queen will be a precondition of peace talks no matter what the British government says. With those assurances and Lord Oakford’s invitation, he will return to England. And you won’t stop him.’
Otto turned to leave the cave.
Theo had retrieved his pistol from the false bottom of his suitcase, which he had left at the station. Now he pulled it out of his jacket. ‘Otto?’
Otto turned. His expression changed when he saw the gun. His eyes opened wide in fear. ‘Theo? No, Theo.’
Up until that point in his life, Theo had never killed anyone, although he had seen Conrad do it a couple of times. He believed killing people was wrong and should be avoided at all costs. And if he was going to kill someone, he would much rather it was a Gestapo officer than someone like Otto.
But the time had come. He pulled the trigger. Twice.
The bullets hit Otto Langebrück in the chest and he crumpled to the ground. The noise was deafening in the cave, but Theo hoped it would be muffled by the surf outside before it reached the ears of the walkers on the beach. He searched Otto’s neck for a pulse to confirm he was dead, and then dragged him into a dark corner of the small cave and shoved him into a crevice. The body didn’t fit completely, and he might well be spotted by a tourist closely examining the inside of the cave. But Theo hoped that wouldn’t happen for a few hours, or at least until after high tide.
Shaking, and feeling slightly sick, he left the cave, clambered along the rock to the sand, and headed back up to the beach road and the café.
There he ordered a cup of coffee and waited for Lord Oakford. He hoped to God he wouldn’t have to do again what he had just done. But he feared he would.
Veronica made good time on the drive from Bordeaux to Biarritz. She and Conrad had arrived in Bordeaux late the night before, but had somehow found a room in a pension. They had slept in the same bed; there was no choice. Early that morning they had driven up to Le Verdon, a port at the mouth of the Gironde. It was clogged with ships, one of which Conrad hoped would take him back to England.
Veronica had dropped Conrad and headed south. This far from Paris, the roads were navigable, and she reached the Atlantic resort by teatime. Biarritz was the kind of place that served tea for its many English visitors.
It took Veronica no time to confirm that the duke and duchess were staying at the Hôtel du Palais. At the reception desk Veronica demanded to see the duke, introducing herself as the daughter-in-law of Lord Oakford. The message came back that she should wait, which was what she had expected. She lit a cigarette, and observed the clientele. It was surprising how many English people had chosen to take a holiday in France in the middle of a war which was going so badly. Good room rates, Veronica supposed.
A man sat down opposite her. ‘Theo!’
‘Actually, my name is Petar Šalić,’ said Theo. ‘I’m a Yugoslav businessman looking for my wife who is trying to flee France.’
‘Are you now? Well, I’m very pleased to meet you. You’re the spitting image of a friend of my ex-husband.’
‘Do you know where Lord Oakford is?’ Theo asked.
Veronica glanced at Theo. ‘Perhaps we should go for a little walk?’
They wandered through the hotel to a door leading out into gardens overlooking the Atlantic and the beaches. It was a lovely afternoon; the sun had lost some of its midday strength and the breeze from the sea brought the smell of salt and the sound of surf into the garden.
‘Well?’ said Theo.
‘You know who is staying here?’ said Veronica.
‘I do,’ said Theo. ‘The Duke of Windsor. Lord Oakford is on his way to Biarritz to persuade him to go back to England to take the throne. And I am here to stop him.’
Veronica pulled out a fresh cigarette. Theo lit it, shielding the flame from the sea breeze. Should Veronica trust Theo? Conrad did. He had been dead right about the invasion date when they had met in that café in Holland. This was no time to be cautious; Veronica decided to trust her instinct. And her instinct was to trust Theo.
‘Lord Oakford is dead. He died on the road somewhere south of Tours. You are right: he was on his way here to get the duke to Britain.’